Three years - a baby, two weddings, a new job and yet the potholes haven't changed...

So I have returned to my old company in west London. My cycle commute is once again along the Uxbridge Road and, while many things have changed in the three years since I was last a regular on the road, the potholed hideousness that is the road surface hasn't.

In the summer of 2010 I was at the peak of my cycling. I travelled everywhere by bike, I was the fittest I've ever been, I was just happy. Then breaking my wrist was the first in a chain of lifestyle altering changes. I was sold to another company that was nearly two hours' commute from home under TUPE (boo), I discovered I was pregnant (hooray), my sister got engaged (hooray), my parents moved to France (initially boo, then hooray), I had Eenie (hooray), sister got married (hooray), I got married on the quiet (hooray), I couldn't go back to work (boo), I filled my time helping with a local parents' group (hooray), I got a new job (hooray). And that brings us to now, today.

Suffice to say, much has happened, it's been three bloody years after all, so why the hell is the Uxbridge Road still a pothole addled mess of a road? Muscle memory means I routinely pull round certain stretches of road out of habit and what shocks me is that in many instances the problem spots from three years ago are still a problem now. Why are there routinely 5cm or deeper holes all over the place? Why has no one rectified the hideously bumpy stretch of bus lane just before Shepherd's Bush? Why has no one addressed the melted tarmaccy mess of lumps in the eastbound lead up to the bike box on the junction with Gunnersbury lane?

I can't help noticing that the particularly bad stretch of cycle lane heading west from Ealing Broadway towards west Ealing is dominated by new developments. There are several new office blocks, hotels and residential flat blocks being thrown up on that section and nearly every one of them seems to need the road drilled. That I can understand, but who is responsible for checking the road has been put back in a state befitting its use? I can't use that section as the bumps put me at risk of coming off my bike.

I'd use the A4 off-road cycleway but that's another hideous mess worthy of a post all its own.

I am not impressed. I may, in fact, write to my local paper (oh dear God, I AM that person now)...

I'm a horribly neglectful blogger...

As you can imagine, it's been somewhat difficult to blog for the last few months as I'm not cycling and am knackered all the time. I also have that elusive and mythical problem: babybrain.

I have, in the past, been doubtful that such a phenomenon exists, but it clearly does. I've chatted gaily to people on the bus only to think vaguely as I disembark 'Who on earth was that?', I've put the tea caddy in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard, I've forgotten to send emails then been mystified as to why people aren't aware of plans.

Luckily, my work seems unaffected and I now only have six and a half days left before I'm off on leave.

So what to blog about... Hmmmmm, perhaps what no-one tells you before you get pregnant.

It's 10 months, not nine. It's 40 weeks of waiting and, believe me, it really feels that long when you start to get big!

SPD. This wonderful phenomenon means that if you're a little bit flexible to start with your pelvic ligaments can get too loose. Oh the joy of feeling like you're being kicked in the lady bits every time you get up, sit down, roll over in bed etc etc. Go to your GP, get a physio referral, it's not normal!

The judgment. Wherever you are you are, whatever you're doing, you are being judged, by them. Carrying a Starbucks/Costa cup? Expect those filthy looks to come flying in. Yes, you're allowed some caffeine, yes, you may well have ordered a decaff but they don't care. They care only that they know everything about pregnancy and know that you are naughty for daring to drink that POISON while pregnant. How very dare you.

If you're feeling particularly masochistic, perhaps you could order that small glass of wine when you're in the pub because that's worthy of a couple of horrified gasps generally. I have had about four glasses of wine/champagne over the course of the past five months, my midwife said I could have a glass a week. So nananananaanaaaah.

'You shouldn't be working in your condition!' Oh really? Thanks for the input, but given that the modern economy works on the premise that most women of childbearing age work you can sod off thank you very much. Oh and get up out of the priority seat you lazy and nobular saddo.

Tube blindness. This tragic affliction should not be underestimated. I am now nearly 35 weeks pregnant and the size of a small whale. I have given up asking for a seat, people pretend not to hear or just look at me blankly.

There are people who are fabulous, they block others from rushing into seats and call me over from across the carriage. There are those who, also standing, loudly upbraid their fellow passengers for ignoring me and then there are those who, on seeing the bump, leap to their feet and demand I sit down. Bless them all. If only they weren't outnumbered by tw*ts who look m in the bump and then whip out a Blackberry/iPhone and start tapping away like their lives depended on it. Eyes glued to the screen they hope desperately everyone will think they just haven't seen me. Everyone saw, they share my opinion that you're a nob.

I single out for particular vitriol those who have pushed me into poles, glass partitions and other passengers as they shove me out of the way to get the seat I was aiming for. Bravo people, being that much of an idiot in public takes balls.

The touchers. People are fascinated by pregnancy, hell, so am I. It's pretty damn amazing that my body can build a whole new person. That said, please don't get too excited and PLEASE don't touch the bump unless I know you or you've asked. Friends, family, even acquaintances who have asked nicely, it's fine. Strangers, it's weird, and a bit gross.

Medical students. I've had a few in my time and I'm always happy for them to join in. They have to learn and I'm generally quite chilled out health-wise. However...

When you're fairly new to the whole Doppler thing and you've been poking around for a bit without success, do NOT half-whisper in a panicked tone 'I can't find a heartbeat!' to the midwife. Most first-time mums aren't as chilled out as me, according to the midwives, they might have got a bit upset. Particularly when it was realised that you just weren't poking hard enough.

Anyhoo, rant over, hopefully this'll tide you over for a bit...

Tube pluses: You wouldn't get a parrot on a bike

The snow has receded and the air is crisp and clear. The cold means walking involves being bundled up like the Michelin man and the morning commute is full of glum and depressed faces as the realisation that Christmas is over sinks in.

All that breaks the silence of the tube is the chorus of hacking coughs and wet sneezes that spreads through the carriage and reminds you of just how many germs you're in contact with right now.

The highlight of last week was the appearance of a parrot on the tube. Yes, a parrot.

I had climbed aboard the busy train at Farringdon and been pushed aside by a man intent on getting a seat. Thankfully, another one opened up opposite the one he'd found and I sank into it, faffing with my bag as I went. I looked up to glare at the man who'd pushed me and my now considerable belly aside and was stopped mid-look of death by the very uncomfortable expression he was pulling. The cause? The elderly gentleman in a flatcap who was sitting next to him had a parrot on his shoulder.

It was green and very pretty. It sat on his shoulder semi-dozing, attached to its owner via a lead connected to the ring round its ankle. It occasionally glanced around the carriage or readjusted its wings, but seemed utterly unperturbed to be commuting at rush hour on a mass transit system in London.

As we neared Paddington and I attempted not to stare, it began to coo softly then climbed round to its owner's front to nibble his cap. He spoke to it softly, reassuring it that they were nearing their destination. In fact, they got off at Paddington, and I had the joy of walking up the stairs next to them. And I mean joy, bizarre it may have been but the parrot looked healthy and happy and was a welcome splash of colour to my working week.

I'm really missing my bike and with Eenie getting ever heavier, walking is becoming a bit of a chore and commuting is rubbish.

Bring on the parrots.

Spreading the love on the tube...

This is my favourite time of year for cycling. Dry, crisp, cold and wonderful.

And I'm on the tube. Sigh.

The good news is that Eenie, the cause of my non-cycling commutes, is getting ever bigger. He (and he is a he we've discovered) is enjoying wriggling and kicking and has decided mummy's bladder is a glorious toy to be messed with whenever possible.

He's also getting heavier and, with my dodgy hips, the regular long stands on the tube are getting increasingly uncomfortable. After a week of ligament pain I gave in and decided to try out the TfL 'Baby on board!' badges.

Having approached three separate stations, two of whom had run out, I was handed two brand new shiny badges with not even a cursory glance to check I was, in fact, with child.

I decided to try the badge out on the way home. I forwent it from Herne Hill but, when I hit Farringdon at rush hour, I decided to go for it. I put it on, unzipped my coat to display the belly and stepped aboard the packed carriage. Nothing happened.

Crammed into a corner, no one had seen my badge. Sigh. I was resigned to another painful stand, refusing to ask for a seat in order to give the badge a proper go.

One stop in, a miracle occurred, a girl lunged for a seat but, as she started to sink down she looked up, saw the badge, and blushed. 'I'm so sorry! I've just seen your badge, would you like a seat?' Hurrah!

I thanked her profusely and sat down in relief, my hips were killing me. I thought the joy was over, but no.

Having witnessed this chivalry, the man next to me leapt to his feet and, turning to the lady who'd given her seat to me, exclaimed 'Please have my seat, I don't need it'. When she sat I thanked her again for giving up her seat and she said she was glad I was wearing the badge as she often worried that, especially with winter clothing, she might inadvertently offend someone by offering and the badge swept away that anxiety.

At the next stop a priority seat was left empty. Instead of the usual scrum to grab it, there was a lot of thoughtful looking around before an older lady stepped forward to sit down. I'd like to hope that the generosity showed by fellow commuters had reminded everyone that not everyone can stand.

I'll admit I felt bit awkward and naughty, a bit like I'd emotionally blackmailed the seat out from under another commuter. It was far outweighed by the physical relief of resting my aching pelvis though.

I won't wear the badge every day, but I'll certainly be whipping it out when I feel rough.

Oh God I miss my bike, waaaaah!

Yesterday was crap.

Late night on Monday I moved in for a cuddle with Mr Weenie to be met with 'Wow, it's like a bowling ball! It's all hard and you're so much heavier.' Bastard.

Tuesday morning I awoke with the horrendous mood carried over from the night before. I set off for work at 7.20am and took the train with Mr Weenie, all lovely. I had forgotten I was meeting Little Roboat that morning and missed out on a natter.

One stop into the District Line journey, Mr Weenie hopped off to go to work. I got back to reading my Metro. I got on that train at 7.45am, I reached Victoria at about 9.05am. I was on it for what seemed like forever. It was hot, it was slow and t was full off commuting nobbers who insisted on stepping on my feet, tutting at each other and spreading their papers out wide to be as annoying as possible.

I finally emerged from Hades into Victoria station. The next train I needed wasn't until 9.25am so I started to stride towards the Boots to pick up bits and bobs. As I reached the door the sirens began. An emergency evacuation of the station later and I was stood outside, in the rain, with 2,000 other commuters. Sirens wailed, fire engines and police arrived and many of us grumbled about the fact it was probably just some carrot batons in a dropped M&S bag or something.

The station finally reopened and I had that sinking feeling. Baby was on bladder and I needed to pee. Needed doesn't even convey the urgency. In desperation I used a loo on one of the stationary and posh looking trains that weren't leaving for a while. I then did a waddly run down to the distant platform where my train was waiting.

At 10.10am I was nearly at work.

Sheesh.

I then had an utterly rubbish day at work before trekking the hour and a half home without the capacity to pedal out my rage. This blows.

Boris and Bob, a conspiracy to promote cycling?

Yesterday I expected many more bikes on the roads and I wasn't disappointed. I posted about the increase and the unfortunate nobbers among those biking the strike.

This morning, however, I was not expecting what happened.

There were no bikes at Paddington. This occasionally happens, so I toddled down to my failsafe docking point, where there are, on average, about 10 bikes at any given time. I was greeted by the sight of two men taking the last ones. Incredulous, I shared my shock with a fellow Boris biker who had also walked from Paddington and was not used to this situation. I walked on to the docking point round the corner, no joy. I walked round Connaught Square, past the armed police guarding the ex-Prime Minister's home and down to Hyde Park. Even the docking point at the top of the park was empty.

The next docking point had two bikes and I duly grabbed one. I still wasn't late for work and it was a perfectly pleasant morning to be toddling around London but wow.

I have a theory:

Boris and Bob Crow worked together on the strike. Where they met, is a moot point. Somehow, I doubt their social circles overlap. However, it's clear to me that in order to ease crowding in tube stations (making tube staff jobs easier) AND promote cycle hire, they met up and organised a strike.

Yesterday many Londoners discovered that they don't have to cram sardine-like into tube carriages, instead they can cycle.

It's all a conspiracy I tells ye.

Strike woes

The tube strike has not hit my travel times. As I use two overland lines and a bike in between I went home last night and came in this morning without the usual strike stress.

What did stress me out though, was the rest of the commuting population. Everyone gets grumpy on strike days. Raw animosity crackled in the air and I was smacked by large handbags/briefcases a lot more than usual as people stormed past. The train was rammed by the time we hit Paddington and the crush to get through the gates was far worse than usual.

Knowing all the bikes would be taken in the immediate vicinity, I walked the 10 minutes to my failsafe docking point where there are always bikes. I saddled up and set off. I'm used to a certain amount of snobbery from other cyclists when I'm on a Boris Bike. It's generally idiots though, so I shake it off. What really annoyed me today was the snobbery and attitude of the various people who had clearly bought themselves some lycra togs and then dug their monstrosities out of their sheds to bike the strike.

They were rude, they were arrogant and, sorry boys, they were mostly men. They ran lights, they overtook far too close, they went the wrong way down one-way streets. Sigh. One man in particular stands out.

He nearly hit me as I cycled through a junction because he ran a red light. I was a bit shocked and stammered that it was a red light. His response was to shout 'Oh f*** off!' into my face before wobbling off. He may have been in lycra but the rust on his chain told me he was a strike biker. There was just no need for that kind of attitude.

If only there wasn't that minority of arseholes. I should be rejoicing that so many people will have discovered they can cycle to work, instead I wish they'd just bugger off back onto the tube.

Could the cycle hire scheme change attitudes as well as commutes?

I've been stopped several times by random people while out on a Boris bike.

'How much does it cost?'

'How do they handle?'

'Have you had key problems?'

'Is it easy to find a dock?'

People are interested, they want to know. So I tell them, often wheezing as they're invariably on little carbon fibre things. I've been told a couple of times that they're interest is because they're keen to get a friend or other half cycling in London and it's a nice way to start.

I've also helped several people having problems with the scheme. I've guided people to the nearest neighbouring dock when there's no empty spaces, I've pointed out that putting your key in makes it harder to dock the bikes, not easier and I've shown people which way up to put their key in the slot.

I've been happy to help, but what's shocked me is how many others are equally willing.

On the tube, it's an unwritten rule of London that you NEVER strike up conversations with strangers. Those who do are automatically given the mental label 'tourist'. Eye contact is a no no.

Cycle hire scheme bods seem to reject this. Even suited and booted trader types will give a hearty 'good morning' as we release bikes at the same time. 'Lovely day for it', is called out by the previously sour-faced school maam lookalike. In a London where I'm often the only person to help those with prams negotiate the stairs at stations 'Allow me!' is bellowed by an older gent who has seen me struggle to pull up a stuck seat post. I was so stunned I could barely offer a thank you before he sped away.

Yes, this is a different way to commute. Perhaps it won't just change the way we travel in London, maybe it'll change our entire attitude towards the others battling to work and back. Dare I say the word... camaraderie.

Back in the groove

Hurrah for cycle hire!

Having finally got the hang of my routes to and from Victoria I sailed across London this morning. There were bikes left at Paddington, my key worked first time, I knew where I was going and the weather was cool and clear. I donned my helmet and yellow reflective Sam Browne and I was off.

The joyous thing about my route from Paddington to Victoria is that it's downhill. When still half asleep I barely need to pedal going through Hyde Park, especially as the Boris bikes are so heavy, I just let gravity pull me along. The way back is a bit harder as it's mostly uphill on a fat-arse Boris bike, but it still beats hideous tube interchanges.

This morning I left my house at 7.25am, got the 7.39am train and was docking my bike near Victoria by 8.20am. That, to me, is amazing. Using the same train from where I live I've missed the 8.44am from Farringdon and, if I change to the district line using the same first train, I get to Victoria for about 8.40am. More than that, it's packed with commuters, stressful and uncomfortably warm. Getting in and out through the ticket gates is horrendous, with people pushing all the time and there's no guarantee of a seat.

More than all this though, I think my body's finally remembered how to cycle. It's been a struggle the last two days but this morning it finally clicked. I could almost hear it sighing 'ah, that's what you want me to do'.

The route I'm taking is not direct but it takes in the park and backstreets. I've negotiated Hyde Park Corner a few times but, even with the cycle lanes etc, I hate doing it. I'd rather cycle 10 minutes more and be happy.

Boris biking fun

I have decided to defy the NHS and begin cycling again.* However, I decided my return to pedal power would be on Boris's marvellous cycle hire contraptions as the sit up and beg position means no weight is being lent on my wrists and the route from Paddington to Victoria is mainly through Hyde Park.

A week after signing up, my key arrived so, on Monday morning, I headed out with my helmet and Sam Browne in my bag, ready to hit the bikes.

My key didn't work.

I headed back to the trains after a call to the cycle hire line that said they were too busy to sort it out and that they would call me back. Train delays meant I was horrendously late for work. Boo. That evening I rang again, pointing out that no one had rung me back. 'Sorry madam, we're still too busy' came the cry.

After getting very cross. I decided to calm down and walk to Paddington as Mr Weenie was working late and it was a lovely evening. I planned out a route and had a lovely walk. This morning, having seen a lovely occupational physio who guardedly said that, while she couldn't tell me I was fine to cycle because of protocol, she could tell me that many other people started back doing everyday activities at this point and no harm came to them. Hint hint.

Yesterday morning I got to Paddington (trains were again late) and my key STILL didn't work. So I rang the line, and they picked up! After apologising profusely for the delay they reactivated my key and it worked.

Phew.

I climbed aboard and, once I'd secured my bag and strapped on my helmet, I was off.

Be warned all those who cycle light and modern roadies and hybrids, Boris bikes are heavy. Vary heavy. I wobbled somewhat as I began but I soon hit my stride and, as I've cycled around Paddington many times, I knew exactly the way to Hyde Park using small backstreets.

The brakes were sensitive without being too sharp and the gear changes were smooth. Yes, the bikes are heavy, but they're also stable and feel well built.

After getting a bit lost I arrived at Victoria in around 25 minutes, a vastly improved time than it's been taking of late. I saw a docking station, obeyed BoJo's instruction of firmly ramming the bike into the dock and the light went green first time. I walked 100 yards to the station and my train was already at the platform. I hopped on and arrived at work far happier than I've been for some time.

I've always supported the idea of the scheme and, although it's unfortunate that the call centre is clearly ill equipped to deal with the volume of interest, I'm heartened that the interest has been so great. Given that only members can use the bikes at the moment I've been impressed by the number of people I see out and about on them. Fingers crossed they work the kinks out as soon as possible.

*I should point out that the doctors do not object to my cycling per se, it is their concern that I will fall over while on my bike. My hip problems mean that I've fallen over about 15 times since I broke my wrist while walking around. Hmmmmmmmmm

Train commuting vs cycling, which is more dangerous?

I'm still not allowed to cycle... in case I fall off. This means that this morning I was yet again braving the train commute. After noticing I seem to be jostled often, this morning I decided to count the hits.

My right forearm was hit 10 times by people's bags or elbows, and that's only counting the ones that hurt. I also nearly got shoved off the train at Ealing Broadway and would have fallen flat on my face and probably thrown my arm out to catch myself.

The theory that it is somehow 'safer' for me to be doing this every morning instead of cycling is becoming more and more questionable. Dogs and small children are continually at my feet attempting to trip me up, I am shoved from behind as I step off high trains onto low platforms by people anxious to get to work, people with ridiculously large bags with hard edges swing them into me as they plough through the crowds.

I haven't even factored in the higher risk of obesity and heart disease caused by sitting on your arse on a train instead of cycling.

Oh God, I'm doomed!

PS: Am still waiting for my key to a Boris bike....

Everywhere I go, people are having fun on bicycles

London was awash with bicycles this morning. I watched longingly as people whizzed by past Hyde Park Corner and Victoria. I shone green with envy when a young lady took a cab driver on and remarked that he was being aggressive, every bike seemed gleaming and beautiful, every cyclist happy.

I attempted yet another permutation this morning as I had to renew my travelcard. It meant I missed the Victoria tube closure but meant I walked for 15 minutes to reach Victoria. It was bike heavy and only magnified my commuting misery. I near wept at the sight of so many happy two-wheelers.

Sigh, why is it that when you can't do something, everyone else starts doing it?

So unfair.

Why do we do it to ourselves?!

Following the corporate shafting that resulted in my moving to a destination miles and miles away for work, I have been left with a commute that, this morning, lasted just over an hour and a half. And that was because I ran for a train.

Crammed into hot and sweaty tubes of met with the rest of London's commuting warriors, my mind wandered to my first job. A similar distance, my days were consumed by it and the resulting misery meant that I quit.

The distance to my new company is 15-16 miles and I think it's a feasible distance to cycle once the cast comes off and I've worked up my leg strength and shed the obscene amount of weight gained while eating cheese in Normandy.

God help me, I'll have to think of something because this morning was awful.

Now that I am part of the cycle enlightened I have another option, there's another way. So why do most of us dismiss cycling as an option for so long when the alternative is to fight our way on to crowded platforms, elbow the weak out of the way to climb onto packed carriages, become intimately acquainted with strangers' armpits, and all so we can arrive at jobs we seldom enjoy?

Why why why.

Grrrr get your bike off the train!

I don't know why I bother checking the rules about bikes on trains because the people living around me clearly don't.

I live on the Heathrow line and, for good reason, non-folding bikes are not allowed in week days between 7am-10am and 4pm-7pm on trains bound for central London (although there are exceptions outside of zone three). While I would love trains to have more capacity for bikes the fact remains that they don't at present and, when busy, bikes are an obstacle. Especially when they're parked across the door and not in the carriage that has room for bikes/wheelchairs (Mr multi-pierced emo man with a dirty single-speed).

I do my best to check the rules, why can't other people?

Off sick and helping the police with their enquiries

I've been off sick for two days and, this morning, only cycled as far as the station.

I feel utterly pathetic. I was mildy perked up however by a happy coincidence this morning. As I parked up I was asked, very politely, whether I would take part in a cycling survey by two PCSOs.

As I hadn't yet got my locks out I agreed and answered their questions while locking Reg up. It was standard stuff: how safe do you feel the roads are, how do you rate cycling facilities, are you aware it's illegal to cycle on the pavements? (To which I answered a firm yes and said more should be done to get the message out there and clamp down on it,)

I answered the questions and chatted about the rubbishness of cycle lanes on the Uxbridge Road. As I was chatting to them I heard a call 'Weenie? Are you ok?' from across the road. My younger sister was stepping out of dad's van as he'd given her a lift and they both looked horrified. 'Are you being arrested?!' came the next question.

The PCSOs had the good grace to giggle when I pointed out that this was why they'd had bad luck in getting participants. Despite the stain on my character it was good to see the police doing something nice for cyclists, now all they need to do is have a quiet word with the motorists giving me a hard time every day.

What a difference a day makes...

24 little hours, brought the sun and the flowers, where there used to be rain...... (Is a very old jazz song.)

Last night I came home in the pouring rain and was miserable.

I stopped regularly to wipe off my glasses, put up with drivers not looking, misted side windows that meant people couldn't see me and freezing hands.

I got home and stripped before putting nearly everything I was wearing into the washing machine and having a very hot shower. I was massively grumpy and Mr Weenie bought me pizza to cheer me up. I was thoroughly fed up and decided that if this morning was anything like last night I'd take the train.

So you can imagine my joy when I woke up to blue skies and dry weather.

All my clothes had dried on the radiators (apart from the shoes but they were only slightly damp) so I threw them on and got going. I flew through Ealing and was loving it until I hit the section just before Acton.

Note to bendy bus driver:

When two cyclists are ahead of you in the bus lane going 20mph and the next stop is less than 150 yards away DON'T attempt an overtake and and nearly crush the second one (me) when you cut her up. Just drive behind.

The complaint's been lodged and the man from TfL agreed it sounded like the driver was being a bit thick.

I refused to let it ruin my day though. Am full of the joys and am bouncy with energy. Hurray for sunshine!

An education in bus driving

As I was heading home on Tuesday night I was forced to give a bus driver a lesson.

A van being a nobber had forced me into the wrong lane I can't be bothered to go into it but he'd revved, tailgated then decided to undertake me and I had ended up in the left hand side of the the filter lane to turn right. I did want to turn right but I normally take the centre of the lane as the road's a little narrow there.

I was a little surprised therefore to get beeped at by a bus behind me. I was over as far as I could go and was waiting for the traffic to move forward a bit to get in the centre of the lane.

As I attempted to shuffle across further the bus driver leant out. 'Why are you not in the cycle lane?! You go there!' (He was pointing to the left.)

I replied:
'Actually I don't go there if I'm turning right and that's what I'm doing. Oh and I have every right to cycle on this bit of road according to the Highway Code. I would read it if I were you, especially given that driving's your job.'

When his passengers began to giggle at the bus stop he retreated into his cab muttering an apology.

I feel I've taught him something useful. How marvellous.

If you have to get a puncture, get one at Ealing Common

So off I cycled into the night last night. My colleagues' fears about the snow were completely unfounded and although it was damp on the road the temperature meant the snow melted away to nothing rather than turn into the sheet ice of recent weeks.

I was enjoying the lack of traffic (I worked late) and clear roads when I heard a suspicious sound.

Shh... Shh... Shh... Shh... Shh... Shh... Shh...

It got faster if I sped up and slower if I eased off.

I had a little ponder:
Hmmmmmm, perhaps a leaf stuck on the tyre? Maybe something else? Perhaps the wheel buckled on that last pothole and the rim's hitting the brake? Should I stop? Am only 15-20 minutes from home, I could chance it. No, I'll stop.

I pulled over outside Ealing Common station and good job too. The sound was the escaping air from a puncture. A chunk of glass was clearly visible in my front tyre even in the relative darkness. Fabulously, Ealing Common has a 'foyer' of sorts, it's warm, dry, well-lit and big enough that a cyclist carrying out repairs is in nobody's way. I set to work. As the source of the problem was so obvious I took the extreme step of deciding not to take the wheel off. I released the brake and took the tyre off.

A well-meaning guy from the kebab shop looking into the station came and looked concerned while giving lots of advice. 'You should carry a spare inner tube!' Yes I always carry one but I actually have two with me. 'You should take the inner tube all the way out to find the hole!' I would normally but, actually, I already knew where the hole was. 'But do you have any patches?!' Ummmm yes.

All very well-meaning I'm sure. He even applauded when I got the tyre back on and pumped up.

A member of the station staff then gave me some tissues to wipe my hands with. Lovely.

Mr Weenie had offered to come and get me when I rang to tell him I'd be late because of my puncture fairy visitation but was audibly relieved when I rang to let him know that he could leave his pyjamas on and get the takeaway ordered.

It took me about 20 minutes all in to get repaired and back on the road. I was in a safe, dry, well-lit place with helpful staff if I'd needed anything.

If you're going to get a puncture it was a good place to get one I reckon.

Wet pants. Gross.

Of all the days to forget your spare pants (or panties for those in the US), today was not a good day. I ended up cycling all the way to work because the trains were so badly affected by the snow that's still falling and although I didn't find the roads any more slippery than in heavy rain, the traffic was AWFUL.

It took nearly an hour to get in, normally it takes half that but the cars were stationary and some of them were being very silly. It was bumper to bumper most of the way and tempers were frayed. Desperate attempts to turn onto the main road left quite a few people blocking lanes of traffic and the sound of horns blaring in rage echoed all around.

Many people appeared to have just got into their cars and started to drive without bothering to clear their lights or windscreens. Wipers will clear the windscreen but clear your f*cking indicators people! Nearly hit a guy turning left across me because I couldn't see him indicating. He looked angry at first but went an embarrassed pink when I pointed to his hidden lights.

I carried on passing numerous buses with snow like a thousand tiny marbles hitting my eyeballs.

All that so I could sit safe in the office with the slush of the commute soaking through my nice clean jeans from my soaking wet pants. I just hope no one thinks I've wet myself.

Hot but no cold yet

Eugh, the sweat.

Normally my whiny sweat posts are for summer but I felt hugely gross this morning. A light base layer, jersey and jacket combo meant I was sweating like a pig this morning. Eugh. The steam actually rose out of my jacket when I unzipped it at some lights.

I strode into the Starf*cks near work for a bucket of coffee and saw colleagues shivering and bundled against the cold and I was utterly bemused. I may actually go without a jacket tonight I was so hot.

Not only that but I've escaped nearly every major cold going round this year. The few days I took the train left me sniffling and I'm sure I've stayed well mainly because I've not been crammed into a tube carriage with ill people. Someone should do a study.

I know statistically cyclists take far fewer sick days but this is ridiculous. Every year but this one I've been struck down with a massive coldy lergy and I've had a couple of near misses this year but nothing hideous.

Marvellous.